The ABCs of Team Quidditch, Please
by miss skinny love
Summary: She's a witch and a teacher — so there's no better preacher. She explains the thirteen Quidditch teams — in her eyes, there is a gleam. And better be it in rhyme! (Poem!fic. Gift for QLFC forum teams. Canon-abiding facts.)


Notes: the poem refers to the 13 teams from the QLFC forum. Canon-abiding facts only. To these teams — thanks for all the fun! :) You're all awesome. :3 I hope you like the gift!poetry!fic.

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 _The ABCs of Team Quidditch, Please_

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There's a witch by the stall,

her shoulders covered by a shawl,

and she's gloating of them all —

the thirteen Quidditch teams, always standing tall

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She's a teacher, so theoretically

she ought to start alphabetically

Thus she begins frenetically:

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The Appleby Arrows are drenched in gorgeous pale blue

and they're swift as the wind, through-and-through

It was sixteen-twelve the first time they flew

and continually they accrue

admirers from as far as Little Karoo or Montagu

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The Ballycastle Bats are immersed in red and black

and they're close and dangerous like a wolf pack

You won't see them coming until _thwack,_ you're someone's snack,

says the witch, and has a flashback —

to them winning the Quidditch League and twenty-seven plaques

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The Caerphilly Catapults — light green and red stripes

like business-people's pinstripes

They're a genotype:

 _penderfynir,_ as the Welsh would call 'round their bagpipes

Formed in fourteen-o-two as a prototype and perfected as an archetype

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The Chudley Cannons are coated in orange

and from them pours a wealth of knowledge

on perseverance and sky-soaring,

muses the witch, oh-so-adoring

as she pulls their 1972 _we shall conquer_ motto from storage

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The Falmouth Falcons are clothed in deep grey and white

and in them flows blood aching to fight and desperate to take flight

No matter the night, the height of the game, or their plight

they march forth, as sure as the king's knights

Ever-ready to _break heads_ on sight

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The Holyhead Harpies drench themselves in darkest green

Like Amazon warriors, they are all female queens

With their eyesight keen and their movements lean,

they flew against the Heidelberg Harriers in a game so obscene

that it lasted seven days, says the witch, her eyes covered in a sheen

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The Kenmare Kestrels steep themselves in the green of an emerald

They are mighty and clever and ever-imperilled

Like their leprechaun mascots, they are wit-and-gold generals

and the Irish proudly herald:

Here come the Kestrels — their greatness assembled

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The Montrose Magpies equip themselves in white and predominant black

They are deadly as the Scottish seas when they attack,

as proven by their history in the League Cup or the crack,

the crack, crack, crack of their mental almanac

as it breaks away the will of their enemies, the witch says, taken aback

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The Pride of Portree are draped in star-emblazoned purple

and like sharp-toothed sharks they encircle

their adversaries, their battle-plans eternal

and their skills as infernal

as they always have been to their hurtles

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The Puddlemere United are glazed in navy blue and bulrushes' gold

Since eleven-sixty-three they've been going bold,

the witch says, and shouts: behold —

none can control the old warriors from times told

Whose games unfolded like assassins, so cold

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The Tutshill Tornados are cloaked in sky blue

After five victories in a row, they set records anew

Records again: the fastest win ever, too,

after the snitch was caught in three-and-a-half seconds' due —

What came to be known as the Plumpton Pass, in review

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The Wigtown Wanderers are deadly in blood-red

and may carry a silver meat-cleaver to use on an enemy's head

Perhaps their invented move — the Parkin's Pincer — will see you dead

or filled with utter dread

and cursing seven children wherever they may tread

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The Wimbourne Wasps are dizzying in horizontal black and yellow

They may use a buzzing wasps' nest on a fellow

to send him quickly speeding to Portobello,

lest he hear a funeral song from a melancholic cello

Should they see the Arrows, they'd murder them with all the passion of Othello

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The witch beams wide, and shows off blackened teeth and bleeding gums

There ye have it — the Quidditch teams, she hums

to the beating of market drums

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— msl


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